


Seven Days a Week

by FleetSparrow



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/pseuds/FleetSparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an exhausting day, sometimes Dick just needs to be around family.  Happily enough, they all tolerate it pretty well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Days a Week

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubitan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rubitan).



> For Rubitan, based on her headcanon: http://rubitan.tumblr.com/post/69951613382/heh-dick-coming-home-exhausted-and-he-just-goes

**Sunday**

Sunday was a nice day around the Manor. No one had to pretend they had a real job, no one had to go out and be social, no one had to do anything until nightly patrol. Sunday was Jason’s day to catch up on all the shows he never got to watch live, because of “work”. Netflix on the TV and a half-full DVR never looked better.

He settled in on the couch, a large bowl of popcorn between his side and the arm of the couch. “Alright, Lily, what year are we investigating today?”

The door opened and shut a little louder than it should have, and five seconds later a heavy lump landed on the couch next to him.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

The pile of Dick next to him just groaned and slowly worm-wiggled his way closer. “Graveyard sucks.”

Jason snorted. “I’ll drink to that in two ways.” He shifted a little as Dick half-climbed, half-flopped onto him. “This one’s from a 1978 disco. That’s when your suit came from, isn’t it?”

Dick just gave a soft growl and buried his face in Jason’s side.

Jason chuckled and wrapped his arm around Dick. “I’ll wake you when the confession’s coming.”

**Monday**  
Cass never understood the idea of the “Monday Blues”. The start of the week was invigorating to her. It meant having a whole week to get whatever you needed done, and that was exciting. Every Monday morning, she would wake up with the sun, no matter what time she’d come in, and start her day off with an hour-long meditation on the roof.

She had just started running through her last training session with Bruce when two arms wrapped around her from behind and a head settled on her shoulder.

“I used to be a morning person, but never your level.”

Cass smiled and put her hands over Dick’s, squeezing them gently. He huddled a little closer to her, but she just kept her eyes closed and let him adjust. She still had a while before Alfred would come up to collect them.

**Tuesday**  
Tim stretched out on his bed, computer and a book open in front of him. “No, I’ve still got a few hours before patrol, it’s fine, guys. I’m just doing a little math homework, it’s all right.”

Kon snorted, the image on screen jittering slightly as he shook his head. “You are the only person I know who thinks math is a pastime.”

“Hey, at least he wasn’t watching _Wendy the Werewolf Stalker_ like _someone_ I could mention,” Cassie said.

“Not fair! I can totally multi-task!” Kon puffed up his chest. “Super-multi-tasking.”

“Sure it is,” Tim said, shaking his head. He looked up at the screen. “Hey, Bart, you’re off-time again. We’re freezing on an empty room.”

The speedster zoomed back into frame with an enormous pile of food. “Sorry! Took a littlebitlonger to get the doughnuts. They hadn’t comeoutofthe oven yet.”

Tim chuckled and looked back at his homework as Kon started heckling Bart about all his food when suddenly his bed dipped and a body laid down on top of him. “Oof!”

Cassie cocked her head. “Tim? Is someone there?”

Dick nuzzled Tim’s back and wrapped his arms around him, making what sounded like a small coo. Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s just Dick. I’m guessing work was kinda rough?” He glanced back at Dick, who just nodded into his back. “He said, ‘yes’. Just ignore him, guys.”

“OK…” Kon raised an eyebrow and gave a shrug that meant something like, “Bats. Weirdos.”

Tim turned the next page in his math book and looked up at the screen. “Bart, where did you even _find_ a Donut World?”

**Wednesday**  
There were many things Alfred did in his life that he took pride in. He was able to keep up with an ever-growing horde of young vigilantes under one roof, to prepare and preserve meals at the drop of a hat, and he could sew up a cape or a cut in less time than it took most to decide what thread to use. Still, the thing he took the most pride in was keeping up his correspondence.

It was one of the things his mother had taught him, as she let him seal the envelopes and spray them lightly with her best perfume. Writing letters of thanks to her fans, announcements of her new shows to her relatives, sharing simple quotidian stories with her friends, all of this was a way to keep yourself sharp, graceful, and pleasant as a human being. “And since you’re going to be a proper gentleman when you grow up, Alfie,” she had said, running her fingers through his hair to try and tame his messy locks, “you need to learn all I can teach you.”

So every Wednesday, Alfred sat down at the desk of one of the smaller studies– one Thomas had given him– and wrote letters to all the people he did not see every day. Three letters later– Miss Barbara, Miss Stephanie, and Leslie– his privacy was interrupted. The members of the house know better than to disturb him during his letters, an he was just about to tell the intruder that they would have to wait when a head rested against his arm.

“Ah, Master Dick.”

“Hi, Alfred. I’m sorry I’m bothering you.” There was a dejectedness about the young man, a droop in his shoulders that seemed to permeate his entire being, that Alfred could not ignore.

“I hope Master Bruce has not been too ill-tempered this time.”

Dick growled softly. “I’ll get over it but he’s being a di–”

“Language.”

“Dimwit.”

Alfred chuckled quietly and patted Dick’s head. “Come on, lad. Move over to my left and let me finish writing. Then we’ll see if we can’t stop the brooding with some hot chocolate and cookies, hm?”

Dick nodded and scooted on his knees around to the other side of Alfred’s chair. “You’ll wear them out if you keep doing that,” Alfred said. Dick just sighed and rested his head on Alfred’s leg.

Satisfied the boy was settled, Alfred returned to his letter. “Dear Mr. and Mrs. Kent….”

**Thursday**  
Damian loved drawing animals, preferring them completely over stationary scenes, even if Father said he should work on his backgrounds, but what did Father know. The only problem was that animals didn’t seem to understand that they were supposed to listen to him and stay still. Usually, he had to rely on drawing them from photographs or just drawing Titus for the fiftieth time; he always remained where Damian told him to, although whether that was because of his strict obedience to Damian’s every word or laziness varied depending on Damian’s mood toward the dog. He got bored of drawing the same thing, so for now he sat out in the garden watching a group of sparrows hopping about.

One in particular caught his attention, a fat, energetic one that made its way to all the other birds and nuzzled them before hopping back to its food. It was a silly creature very much like

“Grayson!”

Damian pitched forward as his older brother all but collapsed on him from behind. The birds startled at his outburst and flew up into the tree. “Now look what you’ve done!”

“Aw, I’m sorry, Damian.” Dick nudged him to the side until he could sit on the same patch of grass. “They’ll be back, though. There’s still food left.”

Sure enough, one by one the sparrows flew back to the ground, pecking at the birdseed scattered there. Damian scoffed. “You’re lucky they did, or I wouldn’t be speaking to you.”

Dick chuckled and rested his head against Damian, looking down at the boy’s sketchbook. “That’s really good, Little D.”

“It would be better if they stopped moving so much.” He squirmed when Grayson wrapped an arm around his waist, but it was mostly for show. “I thought about catching the fat one and keeping it.”

“My aunt said you can catch a bird if you put salt on its tail.”

Damian looked up from his drawing, brows furrowed inquisitively. “Really? How? Does the salt interfere with the bird’s ability to steer?”

Dick laughed. “Well, it’s really just that if you can get close enough to a bird to salt its tail, you’re close enough to grab it.” He leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “But I do know that my same aunt once tried it and the bird wouldn’t stay, so she threw the salt shaker at it and knocked it out!” He leaned back and laughed loudly, shaking Damian jovially.

Damian frowned, once again confused by Grayson’s strange sense of humor. “I’m sure there must be a better way to catch a bird that carries less risk.” He shook his head. “No matter. If you’re going to stay, you’ll have to be quiet now. I want to finish my drawing.”

Dick grinned and laid his head on top of Damian’s, eyes closing sleepily. “I won’t make a _peep._ ”

Damian growled under his breath, but the corner of his mouth away from Grayson’s line of sight twitched up ever so slightly.

**Friday**  
Some patrols were better than others; that was almost a given in their line of work. A good night meant Bruce came home, wrote up his report on the night, maybe worked on a couple of other cases he still had up, and went to bed just a little after dawn. A bad night meant he came home so exhausted he could barely get out of the suit before falling asleep where he stood. The worst nights, however, were those where he came home late, body exhausted, brain running at full speed. Getting work done was a lost cause on those night, but so was trying to sleep. Instead, the best thing he had found to do was to sit up in bed and read, which is where he found himself tonight.

It was Agatha Christie tonight, one he had read years ago and enjoyed, but never got around to rereading. The mystery would be enough to keep his overactive brain busy, but the language was easy enough to keep his slightly fading attention. The door to his bedroom opened and shut silently, and he looked up from his book.

“Dick. I thought you’d gone back to Blüdhaven.”

Dick shook his head, shuffling toward the bed. “Wasn’t gonna make it. Too tired.” He climbed over Bruce’s legs with less grace than usual, moving until he could lay his head in Bruce’s lap. “Your room’s closer,” he offered as an explanation for his presence. They both knew that wasn’t true, but Bruce didn’t comment on it.

“Would you like me to bring you to your room once you fall asleep?”

“No. Just roll me over or something.”

“All right.” Bruce looked back at his book, one hand carding absently through Dick’s hair.

“What’cha reading?”

“ _Nemesis_.”

“Oh.”

Bruce smiled slightly. “Would you like me to read it aloud?”

“No. It’s OK. Just don’t tell me how it ends.”

Bruce could feel Dick’s smile against his leg. “All right. Goodnight, Dick.”

“Night.”

It didn’t take more than three pages before Dick’s breath evened out and his features relaxed in sleep. Bruce stayed still, petting Dick’s hair and reading, for another two chapters before he finally felt the beginnings of fatigue reach his mind. Gently, he rolled Dick off of him, turning down the blankets to tuck him in, and switched off the light.

**Saturday**  
The night was cold as Dick wandered through the quiet house. Everyone else was asleep, but insomnia was getting the best of him. A blanket tucked under his arm, Dick made his way down to the TV room. He plopped down and turned on the classic movie channel, bundling under his blanket. A soft whine came from behind the couch. Dick leaned over the back of it and smiled.

“Hey, boy! What’re you doing down there?” Titus padded around the couch to Dick’s legs. “Aw, you lonely, too?” The dog whined again. “Yeah, me too. Come on, hop up.”

Dick pulled the blanket back and patted the couch beside him. Titus climbed up happily, his tail beating against the cushions. “Alright, boy, you just lay down with me and we’ll get through the night.”

Titus laid his head on Dick’s lap. Dick scratched his head and settled back on the couch for a long night of _Gone With the Wind_.


End file.
